CIRCLING, UNFOLDING Arrows, wings, alphabets. A five-alarm shawl. Daylight from stone. One divergent parallel after another. Speaking volumes Under a slanted moon. Smoke and labels: how we are made; curling vapor, or a strand of pearls. Lost in a secret. Then saved by bells. Vocal with color; in flight. Whatever it takes. Nothing less.
THREE SHORT POEMS Winter light on what most needs to be illuminated: to have, without holding.. ———————————————————————————– That’s my windbreaker in the vestibule, scattering change; in love with some uncharted geology. ——————————————————————————————- Between mirrors notes of logic tunnel; objects take over, risk everything. No naming, or waiting. ———————————————————————————— The above will be appearing in Sue [...]
Spontaneous And I remember Big Papa in the front room lounging in his great “man chair” feet upon the green vinyl ottoman his fat cigar dripping its velvet ash into the giant emerald-green ashtray sitting on the side table: Fifties, oblong, ladle-shape with twelve notches to generously secure an entire evening’s worth of bad habits; [...]
Rob Dinsmoor performs his poem, 32 Dogs at the Christ Episcopal Church poetry reading, Friday, November 20, 2009. Accompanied by Terry Cook on guitar, filmed by Chava Hudson for Zingology.com
The Ex-Hippie Some doped up ex-hippie living on the street a tin cup bought in the dollar store makes you wonder how they ever let him in the front door
Canvas Give me a bigger canvas on which to paint my life. I need more space, more colors more time. I am shedding my skin, paper-thin coils, wrappings, layers of masks. Does it hurt the snake to shed its skin? For me, there is blood everywhere and the newness, the bare skin unencumbered by enclosures; [...]
Pacing the maze of ER halls past nurses’ stations, rooms occupied by languid strangers, hoping… dreading… would he get a bed by morning?
The End of Summer You can hardly blame August for the heat that has your molecules slow dancing. August hangs onto summer like an old lover. The days stretch out like hands reaching across the bed. The sun, unyielding at noon, seems ready to take the plunge into the ocean after dinner. He singes the [...]
Deborah Leipziger is the author of several books in the field of human rights and business. Born in Brazil, Deborah lives in Brookline, MA, with her three daughters and muses. Question for a poet Question for a poet The poem like a passion fruit flower with its intricate web of pollen, a map of sticky [...]
Letter from Home Carrying-a-numbah ten-case-of-the-homesick- for-Kansas City-blues-and-a-fierce-and-soulful-yearning- for-his-move-star-beautiful-woman- who-made-hell-in-the-shade-heat- and-dodging-made-in-Hanoi-bullets-bearable, Malloy read a letter from his wife, perfumed words of betrayal exploding in his hands, ripping his heart apart like shrapnel, making his life, abruptly, unbearable on that night he fired an American-made forty-five bullet into his brain, ending the war. This poem is from [...]
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